"Imagination is the Paphian shop, / Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame, / Bids foul Ideas, in their dark recess, / And hot as hell, (which kindled the black fires,) / With wanton art, those fatal arrows form / Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame."

"To nature and the passions dead, / A brothel is his house and bed; / To fan the flame of warm desire, / And after wanton in the fire, / He thinks a labour; and his parts / Were not designed to conquer hearts."